Red Shark

Marshal Kim Gwan Jin and General Chung Hyun Yi, his deputy, passed through three separate scanning devices designed to detect hidden weapons, then submitted to a careful examination by security guards equipped with electronic wands. Only after a full body pat-down and thorough inspection of their possessions — cigarette packages and lighters, fountain pens, eyeglasses, tie clips, even the medals pinned to their brown wool uniform tunics — were the two officers admitted to the anteroom outside Kim’s office.

Security bolts slammed open. The door to the Dear Leader’s office shivered open to reveal a blue-uniformed, white-gloved bodyguard. He gestured stiffly that the two officers should follow him inside.

“Greetings, Dear Leader,” Jin said as he approached Kim, who was standing behind a glass-topped desk fifteen feet long and six wide.

The only objects in view on the desk were an ashtray, a package of cigarettes, and a white telephone. Harsh overhead fluorescent lighting turned Kim’s chubby face a sickly green.

Jin said, “I am as appalled as you are by the—”

“You two have betrayed the State!”

Jin and Yi stopped dead in their tracks. Jin tried to speak, but Kim cut him off.

“You both are traitors and I have ordered your arrest! Your people set off the bombs that killed the two representatives in New York! Don’t deny it!”

Jin, a wiry man in his late sixties, and with a bald head blemished by ridges and fissures of bone under taut skin, didn’t react to Kim’s outburst. Instead the general stood stolidly at attention while Kim came out from behind the desk under a full head of steam, waving his arms wildly and jabbing the air with a finger.

“The warmongering Americans claim that we betrayed them,” Kim bellowed, raining spittle on Jin, “that we lulled them into trusting us. Now they are threatening a preemptive attack with nuclear weapons. Because of your criminal acts we are facing an all-out war on the peninsula and an invasion of the DPRK by the fascist pigs!” He sucked in his ample belly and tugged the skirt of his tailored khaki tunic.

“Dear Leader,” Jin said calmly, “we did not betray the State, nor have we betrayed you.”

“Silence!” Kim took a breath and wiped his mouth on the back of a hand. He gestured that his bodyguard should get out and close the door. The guard did as ordered, and Kim waited until he heard the security bolts slam shut before continuing.

“Everything I have worked for has been destroyed because you, Marshal Jin, refused to support me. Instead you insisted we keep our nuclear weapons, that we cheat on inspections, that we attack South Korea. Now we have disaster. More than three hundred Americans are dead, and the fascists are accusing me of murdering them. But it is you two who are the murderers. I should have had both of you shot months ago.”

Kim wiped his mouth again. He stood, silent, collecting himself, diamonds of nervous sweat glistening on his high forehead, which was topped by tufts of fuzzy hair. Fluorescent light reflecting off thick-lensed glasses hid his eyes. “Tell me how you did it,” he said. “Tell me how you betrayed the State.”

“But Dear Leader,” Jin said evenly, “it is you who have betrayed the State.”

Kim lurched forward as if to grab a fistful of Jin’s tunic. Instead he checked himself and pointed a trembling finger at Jin. “How dare you say that to me—”

“It is true, Dear Leader, you are the traitor. It is you who capitulated to the Americans. You who agreed to surrender our nuclear arsenal that we need to defend our nation from Western imperialism. You who agreed to sign a peace treaty to end the Korean War, to allow UN inspections in return for international loan agreements. And it is you who agreed to open talks with the criminal regime in the South and exchange representatives.”